


Fireworks

by iloveyoudie



Series: Morseverse Prompt Fills [17]
Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Brief Tension, Innuendo, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: Max glanced out the front window at the distant glare of headlights zipping down the road beyond his garden’s hedgerow. With a frown, he checked his watch.
Relationships: Max DeBryn & Endeavour Morse, Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse
Series: Morseverse Prompt Fills [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115055
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/gifts).



> For a tumblr prompt - Max Debryn - Waiting impatiently for something.
> 
> I wanted more New Years fic... so I made one.

Max glanced out the front window at the distant glare of headlights zipping down the road beyond his garden’s hedgerow. With a frown, he checked his watch.

The house was still twinkling a bit with holiday decor. He didn’t bother with a tree but he had evergreen around the mantle and a few electric candles in the front windows. The wreath on his door was made by his neighbor, complete with a large red bow, but Christmas had come and gone and the yearly lifespan of the decorations would soon be at an end.

It was 11pm on New Years Eve. Usually he wouldn’t mind picking up holiday hours if he didn’t have plans, but Max had made it off the rota this year through no small effort of his own. He did have plans, albeit simple ones. He and Morse - well - the year had been a fruitful one, if he had to admit it so plainly. Morse had managed to make it a full year without any major injuries, attacks or near death experiences and with less a reason to impose himself upon Max’s medical skills, he’d decided he should impose himself on him in more social and agreeable ways.

It turned out that Max enjoyed being _imposed upon_ by Morse in as many ways as they could come up with.

He checked his watch again. Morse had been here only hours before. They’d settled in with a nice dinner and a good bottle and the plan had been to enjoy peace and quiet - to enjoy one another - and to share a New Year's kiss that truly meant something for once.

“I’m sorry,” Morse looked nearly anguished after the call had come and he was on his way out. They both had known he was on call but neither of them realistically expected a CID case on New Years Eve, “I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Max understood. He was usually the one getting called out and leaving Morse on his own. Death wasn’t relegated only to crime, and so he was usually the busier of the two of them, but it didn’t stop the sinking disappointment in his gut when Morse kissed him quickly with apology and darted out to the car.

That had been four hours ago.

Max had finished their bottle since then. He’d watched TV for a while and then cleaned up the remains of dinner and done the dishes. Around ten o’clock he had a burst of positivity and put a bottle of champagne in a bucket to chill but the ice was melting now.

“There’ll be fireworks over the meadow,” He said out loud to noone and checked his watch again, “Suppose I could trek out to see them..”

But Morse could come back. There was still an hour to the New Year. That was plenty of time.

Until it wasn’t.

Soon it was half past, and then a quarter to, and now ten of twelve. Max had settled down on the sofa with a gnawing pit of disappointment in his gut and the chilling champagne had become an open bottle because the ice was gone and it seemed rather a waste to let it go warm. He had poured himself a single flute and resolutely ignored the empty one set out beside it, and he took a deep long drink (and refilled) before turning up the volume on the televised countdown.

He’d never make it out to the fireworks at this point, though maybe, just maybe, if he went out into the garden he’d see some in the distance. That was an idea.

Max couldn’t help standing up as it all finally began. He could hear people distantly, his neighbors having parties just over the back garden wall, someone across the street setting off premature firecrackers in their drive and the squeal of a child that he was sure was delighted to be allowed to stay up this late.

Soon the countdown of 30 was at 20 and then 10 and Max looked at his watch again at around 8 and then came 5 -

“Four..” he couldn’t help it, “Three… Two.. One..”

Max sighed, and as the world outside of his secluded bubble exploded, he took a deep breath and lifted his glass and murmured to himself, “Happy New Year, Dr. Debryn.”

In almost a blink of an eye it was 12:01.. And 12:02.. And the disappointment had mellowed into something like passive complacency and Max did wander out into the back yard and in the distance, over the trees, he saw the beginnings of a fireworks show. The explosions cast everything within a several mile radius in highlights of color, the garden plants edged in electric glows of red and green and his champagne flute dancing in tones of blue and pink. Even with cascading brilliance above his head, that shifting foulness in his gut changed once more - this time into loneliness. Sorrow. Longing.

He would have liked very much to have shared this with Morse.

There was a particular large pop and a huge fiery dandelion of golden light bloomed above him, but the bang of it felt like it was much closer. It sounded like it was echoing through the house, until he realized that it _had_ come from inside the house. There had been a raucous slam just as, in the distance, he heard Oxford’s bells begin to chime.

As he turned towards the sound he was met with the sight of Morse practically volleying himself over furniture after bursting through the front door. He rocketed through the living room for the kitchen door and he was red in the face, his nose and cheeks chapped with winter chill, and the rest of him flushed from the exertion. He was panting as he tried to strip himself of his coat but he was trying to do too much too fast and just sort of tangled up in it so he gave up just as he joined Max in the garden.

“Did… Did I make it??” Morse panted, nearly bending at the waist to catch his breath.

Max was sure he must have flushed in shock. The despair and disappointment seemed to have simply dissolved and instead it was replaced with a lump of emotion stuck under his sternum that prevented him from speaking for several heartbeats. The hours waiting now seemed inconsequential and his impatience, staring at the clock and peering out the windows, the stages of grief he’d put himself through, felt very foolish.

Max looked at his watch again, swallowed, and found his words, “Well, it’s 12:05.”

“Oh good,” Morse grinned. The bells were still chiming, “In Oxford Time, that’s midnight.”

Max blinked and a smile crept across his lips, “I suppose it is.”

Morse grabbed him by the waist, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Max was sure the pounding of his heart mirrored a succession of explosions above him. He wasn’t sure why he’d been worried or let down or disappointed. It was all gone. Morse was here, with him, home where he belonged. As he kissed him, as he had that specific thought, he realized just how integral Morse had become to him, and how home didn’t feel quite right without him in it. He’d have rather been on the rota, called out to a murder where Morse clomped around and looked disgusted, where they had to keep their relationship quiet, restrained, where they could tease and bicker over a corpse, than he would not to be in his company - and to be in this house - alone.

Wherever Morse was, was where Max wanted to be.

“I’m sorry I’m late-” Morse murmured as they broke apart, “-came as fast as I could.”

Max just quirked a brow, “Time flies. I hardly noticed.”

Morse smirked and looked at the champagne sitting on the kitchen table, a third empty and sitting in a chilly bucket of water, “Got into it without me?”

“Well, I was stuck home while you go off to have fun with fresh bodies... What did you expect me to do?”

“Only you would be jealous of corpses,” Morse shook his head, “It was entirely uninteresting by the way. Clearly a domestic gone wrong. I delegated it. Not worth my time. Besides... I had somewhere to be.”

Max smiled and lifted on his toes to kiss him again. He softened, “I am grateful you made it.”

“I am too,” Morse sighed with closed eyes as if Max’s kisses were the cure. When he opened them, clear and blue and flashing with the reflections of the last bit of fireworks, Max was sure his breath had been stolen completely away.

“Happy New Year, Max,” Morse said very seriously in that way of his, that way in which he made Max feel like the only thing worth looking at in the entire world. 

“Happy New Year, Morse,” Their hands found one another and grasped and held and it felt reassuringly unbreakable.

Morse finally stepped back and peeled himself out of his coat, “Let’s go inside. I need a drink and I think..” He leaned close a moment to tug Max’s tie end, a tug and another tug, and he completely unraveled it - and the final vestiges of Max’s stress along with it.

Something warm and hungry kindled in his belly and worked its way down.

Morse grinned, “I’m sure I can provide a fresh body for you to pay attention to.”

Max grinned and nearly purred as he lifted his glass, “A Happy New Year indeed.”


End file.
